Bees are born fully grown.

Poetry – Across the Lot

Sitting in a car at a parking lot alone
The radio is playing real low
Thinking about life and its constant strife
Staring out at this vacant spot
A field of sunflowers at it’s edge

Evening dreams of fantasies sought
When suddenly a terrible thought
Did something move at the end of the lot
I focus on the field of flowers
As they wave back and fourth invitingly
My stomach falls like tumbling towers
Something dressed in robes stands before the flowers

It is facing me
Eyes like red orbs
It begins stepping toward me
I discover a new sense of dread
My vision is blurred but the field is clear
I watch them as they wave and croon
As if they sang softly
Come again soon